This story was written in response to #1 of the prompts set forth HERE by Chuck Wendig. Enjoy!
Many Happy Returns
Having secured the
exclusive patronage of the same familiar gaoler, the removal of her
mental bonds was a relatively simple process, though lengthier than
she had anticipated.
There are stepping
stones to all the great Powers of posthumanity; in reaching Mind
Control, one treads the unsteady path of Suggestion; navigates the
labyrinthine caves of Emotion, Empathy, and Sympathy. Prisoner A1 –
that's Alpha-1, so-named based on tenor, not tenure – is no
exception to that rule, even in spite of the awe-inspiring ease and
grace with which she mastered her Powers; at the tender age of
fifteen, no less. Despite her prowess in the manifestation and
mastery of her Empowerment, A1 didn't just start wandering in to
peoples' heads, traipsing through thought and mucking with memories.
Those were dangerous places to be, whether the invaded were Empowered
or not; even the run-of-the-mill human mind has countermeasures
against being read and controlled: particularly of the 'taste your
own medicine' variety; often a surrender of one's own control.
Sometimes worse: total shutdown, the psychic equivalent of a
weaponized EMP burst.
No, A1 learned the
subtleties first. The power of repetition; the means of
indoctrination, so that when the time comes to go traipsing; mucking,
the invaded mind doesn't know the difference between its own thoughts
and those of the outsider, digging for secrets.
So it's no surprise
to her when the guard leans over in the Mess, amidst rows of docile,
restrained Empowereds, and (with hands that have beaten Alpha, and
several Alphas before her, to bruised, bloody, sobbing heaps; hands
that have 'processed' and 'searched' her, invading every orifice)
turns the key in her headgear, lifting it off ever-so-gingerly. With
that gentle motion, it's as if he is lifting Lucifer, welling the
wings of the Fallen; to reascend, and cast God from His seat. Alpha
isn't shocked in the least, but the guard is, when, upon looking down
for an instant – less than that, a milli-instant – at the object
in his hands, the realization hits...
...a second too
late; a moment before the burst of psychic energy; origin: Alpha's
freed mind, exploding throughout his anti-crowd armor, makes ivory
smithereens of every augmented bone in his body, as he crumples to
the floor with the breathless exhalation of death.
Nonchalantly, she
stands from the stainless bench and – with her first thought –
disengages the locking mechanisms along the route to her destination,
while – with the second – rewiring the brains of the panicked
officers and Repressed inmates in her immediate vicinity, affecting a
change into what 'the experts' dubbed a 'Berserker' state: homage to
some no-doubt lovely group from human history.
A1 called it her
Red Flag: she wagged a mental finger, and the rage-filled cattle went
charging. The throng of newly enraged fighters surges upwards, and
outwards, consequence of Alpha's mental insistence that they stay
away: spit, blood, and teeth; the brawler's trifecta spills in every
direction as fists and trays swing within the brutal melee. She walks
serenely toward the exit of the Mess, a halo of psychic force
encircling her; the crowd ebbing with her every step, their rage
undiminished, perhaps galvanized, by the canisters of noxious vapor
exploding around them. The gas is no threat to her; sub-consciously,
as she inhales, her body transforms it in to harmless air. Not so for
the Repressed, as soon as the gas reaches beyond the limits of
Alpha's manufactured bloodlust, they will collapse in to sleep-like
stupor.
Though they have
expelled the most of their payload, she grips the spent grenades with
her mind; thought formed into snaking, grasping tendrils, and flings
them up toward the guardsmen on the walkways above. Her Red Flag's
luster fading, she reels in some of the force surrounding her,
allowing the crowd a closer proximity, hoping the guards would lose
her a bit longer in the sea of bodies. From their perch, the gassers
continue their nerve-dulling rain, barely thwarted for an instant by
her returned projectiles. For an instant, she contemplates tearing
the walkways from their anchors in the ceiling and endangering
everyone beneath. As if in answer to her unspoken question, a man is
caught directly by one of the propelled canisters, half his face torn
away by the velocity and heat of the blow. Knowing naught of his
innocence or guilt, she can only feel so much sympathy, but she has
used the inmates enough; any more loss on their part would be
unacceptable.
As the last of her
cover falls, the Wardens arrive; dressed head to foot in a heavy,
matte black metal that seems to blur in the low-light, making the
ordinary gaolers seem children playing in cheap, imitation costumes.
Four in all; the two in front carry heavy batons; 'dimsticks'; they
can release nerve gas, or a hell-of-a-lot of voltage, whatever
necessity dictates. The two behind have rifles at ready, should the
'dimstick' twins fail.
“Threat
identified,” a static-y, metallic voice quips, one of the riflemen,
already underestimating her, “Isolating and restraining.”
The twins take
synchronized steps forward, and she hits the lights; it's not much,
but it's time enough – a half-second until their low-light visuals
kick in. She moves in low and close – the armor blurs because it
vibrates; it vibrates at such a frequency as to offer protection
against psychic attack. No system is perfect, and she's broken it
before, when she escaped; the first time she was caught, and the time
after that.
And this last time
she was caught? That was no mistake, either. But it's not just the
thrill of beating the Wardens of the Milieu that keeps her coming
back.
Rifleman two drops;
the one that quipped: mask open now, there's a hole in his chest,
just the size of her fist. He gurgles; throaty laughter, “Stupid
bitch … wrong way.”
“Trust me – I
know the way in. I left someone here a while ago – just came to get
him back.”
Shane
ReplyDeleteThis piece has the feeling of something much longer with a whole world and history behind it. Intense too!
@nickjohns999
BTW thanks for the #vss RT!